


Joke's on me

by virtualsilver



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, a rewrite of Ianto's and Owen's conversation in 2x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualsilver/pseuds/virtualsilver
Summary: Owen isn’t handling his death and subsequent undeath very well.
Relationships: Owen Harper & Ianto Jones
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: Bingo Fest 2020





	Joke's on me

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: This is a rewrite of the conversation between Owen and Ianto in 2x08 because I didn’t like what the writers did with it. I wrote this for the [Torchwood Fan Fests](https://torchwoodfanfests.tumblr.com/) 2020 Bingo Fest, for the prompt ‘anger’.

“This is bollocks!” Owen pushed the coffee machine in disgust. “What am I even doing here?!” He grabbed one of the handles and shook it violently, overtaken by a fit of irate helplessness. Owen hadn’t ever been one to deal well with helplessness. Then again, Ianto supposed, who was? 

He stopped after a few seconds, still holding tight to the handle, his back to Ianto. “I can’t do my job, can’t do the things I love, I can’t even drink the damned coffee anymore, what the fuck am I here for then?”

Ianto took a breath. “Owen, you will-”

“What do _you_ know?” Owen interrupted in a rage, turning around to face him again. He stepped up to him, trying to hover menacingly, Ianto thought, which might have worked if Ianto wasn’t taller than him and also well-acquainted with Owen’s anger and how he used it as a bulwark to hold back the terror that was part and parcel of working for Torchwood. The terror seemed to be winning this round. “I’m a fucking _zombie_! I’m not supposed to be here, there’s nothing left for me here!” He accentuated his point by pushing Ianto back a step. “Look at me, I’m a fucking joke!”

Ianto hesitated between two paths for a split second; should he treat Owen with the compassion he clearly deserved for what he was going through, or should he treat Owen like he normally would? But he knew the answer, he knew what he’d prefer if it was him in Owen’s shoes. 

So he reached up to hold onto Owen’s shoulder with one hand and squeezed comfortingly before he spoke, voice soothing in the face of Owen’s turmoil. “Owen, you’re not a joke.” 

Owen was doing that face where his eyes were too wide and his jaw was clenched, and if he could breathe he’d probably be panting with rage right now. He looked deranged. Well, _tough_ , it would take a lot more than that to get Ianto to back off when Owen was so obviously in distress. Instead of being cowed, Ianto leaned in closer and, wearing the most apologetic expression he could muster, he delivered the punchline. “You have to be _funny_ to be a joke.”

For a second, Owen stared at him, unmoving. Then, sweet payoff. Owen tried to hold it back, but the laughter pushed through, up his throat, out the stiff lines of his mouth, curving them into a softer shape, the tension draining from his face first, then from his frame as his shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. The struggle lasted only for a moment, then he gave in, and for the first time since his resurrection, Owen laughed. 

“You are such a twat,” he accused once the full-bodied laughter had made way to more modest chuckles.

Ianto grinned unrepentantly back at him. “Yeah, well. Made you laugh.”

“Ha. Sounds like you’re the joke, then.”

“Sounds like you’re saying I’m funny.” He affected a serious expression for maximum comedic effect. “Which I am.”

“You’re a cheeky little shit is what you are,” he was still smiling, so Ianto wasn’t exactly insulted. Coming from Owen, that was basically a term of endearment. “How rude do you have to be to make fun of your poor undead coworker in his hour of need.” He slapped Ianto’s chest with the back of his hand in mock-reprieve. “I might file a complaint. I’ll have you investigated for discrimination towards the undead. I bet we’re a recognised marginalised minority by Torchwood standards. There’s been enough of us for it, anyway.” 

“I’m sure our non-existent HR department will get right on that as soon as they finish processing my sexual harassment complaints from the past year and a half.”

“Ha. Right. As if you haven’t been shagging the boss for most of that time. As if you weren’t egging him on even before that.”

Ianto pretended to be offended. “Are you calling me a harlot?” 

Owen dissolved into sniggers at that, and that’s when Jack appeared to call all of them to a team meeting. Ianto saw him do a double take when he caught sight of Owen sniggering and Ianto grinning back at him, smug as the cat that got the cream. Jack spared a grateful/proud/affectionate smile just for him before collecting himself and announcing that he needed everyone in the conference room in his usual loud and flamboyant manner. 

Owen turned to Jack and nodded, and though he’d stopped laughing, the calm that had come with it remained. Success, for now. The grief and the helplessness were bound to come back, but they’d been vanquished for now.

Ianto didn’t doubt that Owen could overcome even this. He just needed to be reminded that he wasn’t going through it alone. Ianto would keep reminding him, as many times as it took to get it through his thick skull.

“Back to work,” Owen muttered.

“Back to work,” Ianto agreed. 

Together, they walked to the conference room to join the others.

**Author's Note:**

> You can like/reblog this fic on tumblr [here](https://this-is-quite-homoerotic.tumblr.com/post/629092353452523520/fic-jokes-on-me)!


End file.
